


Snuck out

by FcrestNymph



Series: Heavenly Lovers [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:17:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FcrestNymph/pseuds/FcrestNymph
Summary: Elior snuck out to deal with business, and Alastor is waiting impatiently at home. Elior comes home wounded.





	Snuck out

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is the first work for my new series. This won't be in proper order, I'll post whatever I write first. I hope this isn't too bad!

He limped through the misty streets. The heat from below ground made him feel hot and damp, a mixture that he was by no means happy about. The clashing of two opposite worlds was the perfect breeding ground for fog; it was heavy, bothersome, and uncomfortably warm. Despite all of this, he had absolutely no desire to go back to his starting point. He much preferred his destination, even though the travel there wasn't enjoyable. He grunted as he stepped on an uneven patch of ground, his right knee giving out then buckling in one quick motion, resulting in a pained expression crossing his face. He stayed still for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued walking.  
_'He should still be asleep'_  
He wasn't eager to run into his friend, at least, not now. He glanced up as he reached his destination. At first glance, there was absolutely nothing to look at. It was just empty air, fog floating lazily through. But if one were to look a bit closer, perhaps squint, then they might notice that the fog seemed to ripple in one small area, as if it was being blocked by glass, fog moving on both sides, but unable to touch and mingle. Behind his back, his wings were held close, the tips of his primary feathers tucked under the soft cloth of his previously white toga. The colour had been dirtied, now there were splashes of unpleasant browns and reds, and the thin rope that had been tied around his waist had snapped, now hanging, half pulled off, near his right hip. Therefore, the toga was shapeless, hanging straight down, nothing to hold it close and make it look more fitting. It only helped his appearance to look more ragged. He turned to the left, walking towards the rippling fog. He didn't pause as he stepped into it, he only blinked. As he opened his eyes, his gaze met entirely different surroundings. His expression didn't change one bit, this wasn't a surprising alteration. His stride didn't falter, he continued walking, now approaching a small, yet cozy looking cottage. There were flowers along the windowsills, not yet in bloom, but partway through their budding phase. He walked up the stone path leading to the porch, once he finally arrived at the front door, he paused. He stared at the ground, silent. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. It was only once he was still for a full minute before he reached out a hand and turned the doorknob. He paused when it clicked, pushing open the door after a few seconds. He stepped inside gingerly, both because of the attempt at silence and his injuries.

He leaned on the wall as he kicked off his sandals, wordlessly moving his lips in vulgar phrases as he struggled with the straps. Eventually, he got them off, and he nudged them with his toes to neatly rest beside the door. He closed said door, now tiptoeing through the living room, towards the kitchen. It only took a small glance into the fridge to discover that he wasn't actually hungry. Rolling his eyes at his own habits, he closed the fridge door, sending his surroundings into darkness again. He moved towards the door in the middle of the living room wall. Having heard no movement in his time in the house, he pushed it open slowly. His eyes weren't all that useful in the darkness, so he had to put each foot out carefully, unsure whether he was about to step on a hairbrush or shoe at any given moment. He tiptoed through the pitch black bedroom, moving past the four poster bed and placing his hand out gingerly in front of him. His fingertips made contact with the wall, and he used it to find his way towards the attached bathroom. Once he found the door, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. He turned it slowly, and the door clicked.

The lights turned on. “Hello, Elior.”

He jumped a foot off the ground in terror, managing to clumsily spin around in midair with the help of his desperately flapping wings. The air rang with his screech of surprise, and after a moment, it died away, replaced with a sharp inhalation of oxygen into empty lungs. “You—Why—“ As his feet came back to the ground, his senses also returned. He spun around, walking into the bathroom that he had been searching for in the dark. “Go to sleep, Alastor. It's late.”

“Very true. It's precisely why I'm still awake.” Alastor pushed away from the wall he had been leaning on, his hand dropping from its earlier position next to the light switch. “Is there any reason you left without telling me? Perhaps that would also offer insight into why you've been gone for hours.”

“You get pushy when you're tired, go to sleep.”

“No, I get pushy when I'm worried.”

“You get prim and proper when you're worried, too.” He nudged the bathroom door shut with his toe but before it had clicked shut, a hand pushed it back open. “What's wrong, Elior?” He was asked, as the other man entered the bathroom. Elior stared into the mirror resolutely, lips pursed. The other man looked up, and their eyes met in the reflection,

“Holy sh--”

“Yes. I know.” The comment didn't hold the usual tone of amusement and playfulness that it normally did, so Elior interrupted before it could be finished. “Nothing I can't handle.”

“I know that, but--”

“Nothing I can't handle _alone_. I didn't need your help”

There was a pause. “Do you honestly believe you ever have a choice? Don't give me that look, you know how this all works. We work as a team, or not at all. As much as you might want to believe otherwise, I doubt we can choose the latter anymore.”

Elior's gaze flicked to his own reflection, and he paused as he locked eyes with his imitation. One eye was so puffy, he could only see a tiny slit of his usually wide eyes, and the other had an irritated gash underneath it, right above his cheek. Aside from his eyes, his whole appearance was ragged and injured. “. . .Yeah.” He murmured, watching his own expression subtly change from one of irritation to one of acceptance.

“Go on, hop up on the counter.” Alastor softly ordered, squatting down to rummage under the bathroom sink. By the time he straightened up with a first aid kit in his hands, Elior was settled on the counter, his rump a few inches from the edge of the sink. His pale fingers tapped against the countertop, trimmed nails clicking lightly.

The other unzipped the first aid kit, mumbling to himself about how bothersome zippers were. He used his index finger to push things around, searching for something to start with. He seemed to change his mind about the first aid kit all together, and he picked it up, setting it down in Elior's lap. He turned, opening a cabinet and taking out a face cloth from a neatly folded pile. He nudged the door shut, but it swung back open lazily.

“Alastoooooor...”

The man in question let out a soft sigh, but pushed the door shut again, putting a bit of extra pressure until it clicked. When he turned back to the other, the cabinet door stayed shut, and his lips were pulled up in a smile. As he looked at the injuries covering Elior, the smile faded. He turned on the tap, wetting the cloth with hot water. It was wrung out, and then raised to Elior's face. “Hold still, Els, this will sting.”

“You think I can't handle a washcloth?” Elior chuckled lightly, putting a bit too much effort into sounding casual.

“I know you can, but these aren't caused by a human. Have you ever been in a fight like this before?” Alastor gently wiped at the bloody gash on the other's cheek, pausing as he earned a pained hiss. “It's alright, we just need to get it cleaned.” He continued wiping at the blood, paying close attention to keep the cloth in between his hand and the injuries. “It'll only start to heal when the blood is gone, but when it does start to heal, it's gonna hurt.”

Elior stared at Alastor's face as his facial injuries were cleaned up. Even though one of his eyes was so puffy that he could barely see from it, he couldn't keep from noticing how the other kept flinching every once and a while. He ignored it, for now. “Do you study this stuff? You know lots about it.”

“Ah, well,” Alastor's movements slowed, but he cleared his throat, moving to wipe at the bloody jaw. The cloth moved down to clean the crusted blood in the dips of Elior's collarbone. “Experience, I guess. Now, shh, I'm trying to focus, you goof.” The bathroom fell into silence, and Alastor eventually declared himself finished. “Go get your pjs on, I'll be there in a sec.”

Elior nodded, flapping his wings slightly as he hopped off the counter. He slipped through the doorway, and as he left, the door was nudged closed by a toe. Now alone in the bathroom, Alastor let out a deep breath, looking up at his reflection in the mirror. Crimson eyes stared back at him, and his double mimicked his frown. He knew what he was getting into when the left from down there. He knew what it would entail. But to have Elior get dragged into his mess? It wasn't fair. He sighed again, looking down to the sink. He turned on the tap, letting the water run over the bloodied washcloth. His face twisted as the tinted water spilled across his hands, but continued to wash the cloth, eventually turned off the tap once the water ran clear. He set the cloth beside the sink, turning to dry his hands on the fluffy white towel hanging by the wall. The fabric felt like sandpaper, and he let go, accepting his fate. Of letting his hands air dry, that is.

He pushed the door open and walked to the bed, not wasting any time in getting under the soft blankets. Elior peeked up from said blankets, his smile visible from his eyes, which were the only thing that weren't hidden by the puffy fabric.

“Go turn off the light, it's too bright!”

“Nah...I'm tired. Been up waiting for you to come home.”

“Alastoor, you're so mean.” Elior sighed dramatically, wiggling out from under the blankets and making his way to the door. He took a breath, flicked the lightswitch, and screamed. Alastor felt a large mass slam into his stomach, and he grunted, shoving Elior off the bed.

Elior jumped back up, diving under the blankets. “Al! What if there was a monster? I could have _died_!” He huffed indignantly, snuggling close to the other. His wings stayed close to his back, but Alastor's spread out, tugging Elior close to him, wrapping him up as if the dark brown wings were two feather covered blankets.

“Yeah, sure, there's monsters hiding under the bed. In our house. Our house that, by the way, is obviously not for humans. Plus, everyone knows we live here. Do you really think the Bosses would send something here?”  


“Well, you never know. Better safe than sorry, yeah?”

“I think a Demon is scarier than a monster under the bed. Those things are way lower on the ranks, they'd be scared of me.” Alastor yawned, nuzzling his nose against Elior's fluffy hair.

“Mmm, you're harmless, no one's scared of you, hun.”

“Go to sleep, loser.”

“Fine. Love you.”

“Love you too.”


End file.
